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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150437">of neurotypes and operating systems</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreechTheMighty/pseuds/ScreechTheMighty'>ScreechTheMighty</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>One is Quick, the Other's Tall [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Titanfall (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Also some OC cameos, Autistic Cooper, Friendship, Gen, Stimming, cooper needs to chill and everyone knows it, stress stimming</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:55:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,992</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150437</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreechTheMighty/pseuds/ScreechTheMighty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a reason Cooper is so good at explaining figures of speech. He knows a thing or two about having to learn these things.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>BT-7274 &amp; Jack Cooper (Titanfall)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>One is Quick, the Other's Tall [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1107093</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The Apex fandom is exploding, which means it's Titanfall Time. This whole concept is based off how I interpret Cooper based off the dialogue options I choose for him. It's definitely not what the writers intended, but I'm an English major, so...*does a little twirly pose like I'm an animal crossing character showing off an outfit* I don't give a heck.</p><p>Also, part one takes place during "The Citadel." They're going to get some down time and this will happen then. Part two probably will as well--I say probably because uh, I know KINDA what I want to write but not all of it. Fic writer life.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Okay, how do you do it?”</p><p>Erin Adams seemed more irritated than usual. This was noteworthy, as the Angel City Elite member’s tone bordered on hostile by default. BT supposed she was similar to Robert Taube in that regard. Perhaps that was why he had hired her. “Do…what?” Cooper asked.</p><p>“<em>Sleep.”</em></p><p>Ashwin Narita spoke up from where he was tending to his own Titan. “Erin has insomnia and no self-discipline to follow proper sleep hygiene. I keep telling her…”</p><p>“You don’t even <em>sleep</em> anymore, Narita.”</p><p>“Erin, how many times do I have to tell you I was literally in the same boat when I had a flesh body? Cooper, tell her it’s that simple.”</p><p>Cooper shook his head. “Wrong person to tell her. It’s not a discipline thing with me. It’s the autism.”</p><p>There was a long pause. BT realized in that moment that neither of them knew. <em>He</em> knew, of course. It was in Cooper’s medical file under his cognitive notes. <em>Autism Spectrum [No Extraordinary Support Needs]. </em>He simply hadn’t commented because it had never mattered.</p><p>Did it matter to them? He didn’t know why it would. BT was wondering if he should intervene when Narita spoke: “<em>Routines.</em> Right, duh, that’s <em>textbook</em>.”</p><p>Cooper laughed quietly. “Yeah, my bed time is one of the only things I can control. Thought for a second you were going to say you couldn’t tell.”</p><p>“Cooper, I am <em>wounded.</em> As the digital copy of a man who had a lot of stuff going on, I know better than to say dumb shit like that.” Narita put a hand over where his heart would be on a human body, then turned his attention back to Adams. “But seriously, you’d sleep better if <em>you</em> had a routine and didn’t just crash wherever you happened to be standing…”</p><p>“<em>Whatever,</em>” Adams snapped. “You’re worse than Doc. You really are worse than Doc.”</p><p>That was more or less the end of the conversation, but BT found himself dwelling on it further.</p><p>Tai Lastimosa, while he was the uncle and legal guardian of someone on the autism spectrum, hadn’t exhibited any signs of being such himself. He had spoken of his niece Cassandra on several occasions, but as BT ran through every mention of Cassandra still stored in his memory banks, he realized what little he knew about her wouldn’t help him with Cooper. It was likely their symptoms manifested in completely different ways. Humans were, by default, much more cognitively diverse than Titans, regardless of neurotype.</p><p>So, he did what Cooper always encouraged him to do whenever he wasn’t sure about something: he asked questions.</p><p>“Pilot?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“I realized that I have never asked you anything about your cognitive differences.”</p><p>Cooper tilted his head slightly, then laughed when he realized what BT meant. “You can call it <em>autism</em>, buddy, it’s fine.”</p><p>BT made a mental note of this. “Your medical file indicates that you have no extraordinary support needs. Is there anything you might need from me that doesn’t qualify as <em>extraordinary?</em>”</p><p>Cooper took a moment to think. “…nothing you haven’t already been doing,” he said. “But I’ll let you know if I think of anything, okay?”</p><p>“Understood, pilot.”</p><p>BT trusted that Cooper would tell him whatever he needed to know, whenever he needed to know it. They were a team. The questions he had now were not out of concern for his pilot’s well-being, but out of curiosity.</p><p>“Did you know that Captain Lasitmosa’s niece is like you?” he asked Cooper.</p><p>Cooper perked up. “Is she? I thought so, I just never asked. It didn’t feel relevant, when…” His expression dropped quickly. “...you know, other stuff was happening.” BT knew. “But I figured. The chew pendant gave it away.”</p><p>“Chew pendant?”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s like a necklace pendant but it’s made of...silicone, I think? So it’s safe to chew.”</p><p>“Is chewing a part of autism?”</p><p>“It can be. We do this thing called <em>stimming</em>. It’s not like what stim pilots use. It’s...uh, repetitive action as a means of self-regulation. Usually because there’s too much happening mentally and you’ve just gotta…” He grabbed the straps on his jump kit and swayed in place, rotating his torso in a gentle rocking motion. He had seen Cooper do that before, usually following a high-stress situation. “It helps.”</p><p>BT thought he understood. “And chewing is a form of stimming?”</p><p>“Yeah. I used to do it, but I was bad about chewing things that <em>weren’t</em> chewable and chipped a tooth. I switched to other things stims…okay, mostly I switched to other stims, but I haven’t chipped another tooth yet. Good thing, too, we don’t have the money for a lot of dental work.”</p><p>“You spin when you’re excited. Is that a stim as well, or does the <em>too much happening mentally</em> have to be negative?”</p><p>“No, that’s a stim, too. It can be positive things, just as long as you’re <em>really</em> feeling it.” He laughed quietly. “I forgot that people might notice I do that…it’s natural to me, you know? It’s just what I’m like.”</p><p>BT understood. “How long have you known?”</p><p>“Long as I can remember. I think I was diagnosed when I was…three? Three or four. I had some occupational therapy as a kid. It helped a lot, but I can be kind of awkward to be around.”</p><p>“I don’t think that’s true.”</p><p>“That’s because you haven’t seen me try to make small talk. That’s part of the whole thing. My brain didn’t come with the programming for social rules or the programming to pick it up intuitively.” He perked up suddenly. “It’s like when you try to interact with humans. Your social programming is different than ours, so sometimes you don’t understand figures of speech and stuff. Right? That’s what it’s like for me.”</p><p><em>Interesting. </em>“I understand. Are people ever unkind to you because of this?”</p><p>“Why, you looking to make a hit list?” Cooper’s fingers drummed against his vest. “That was a joke. Uh, yeah, sometimes, but most of the time it’s not because they know I’m autistic. It’s because I’m ‘weird.’ It’s the same thing, but they don’t treat it like it is<em>. </em>It’s less socially acceptable to make fun of the neurodivergent kid, but if I’m <em>just weird</em>, people think it’s fine?<em>” </em>He snorted. “Sometimes I think I’m the only person who notices that. Outsider’s perspective and all. Oh, do you want to see something cool?”</p><p>“Always.”</p><p>Cooper ran to his bag and returned with a brightly colored piece of plastic, three pieces joined together with hinges. “Check this out…” He twirled it expertly in his fingers like one would a switchblade, causing the plastic to light up and flash. “Doing this is a stim, too. Freaking love this thing.”</p><p>The movement made sense; BT had seen Cooper fiddle with knives before. “A switchblade without the risk of injury,” he noted.</p><p>“Basically. Knife tricks, but kid-safe.” Cooper gave the device one last twirl before tucking it in into a pocket. “Hey, uhm, sorry you had to find out that way. I didn’t think to tell you, I don’t usually bring it up unprompted.”</p><p>“It’s all right. I already knew. It’s in your medical file.”</p><p>“…right. Duh. You know my freaking blood type, of course you know…” Cooper rubbed the back of his neck, his ears starting to turn red. That was his psychological response to embarrassment. “Well. Thank you for being chill about it.”</p><p>“Of course, pilot. I believe being ‘chill’ about it falls under Protocol Three.”</p><p>Cooper’s blush faded as he laughed, all embarrassment leaving his features.</p><p>BT was pleased. It was always a good day when he was able to make a joke properly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So this ended up Not Quite Like I imagined originally, but we'll say this takes place sometime after <i>The Citadel</i> and call it good. Fitting drabbles that are mostly just headcanons into the timeline is hard.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Some people were easier to talk to than others.</p>
<p>His Dad was always straightforward; Cooper was pretty sure his dad was autistic, too, but he didn’t have a diagnosis. Mom was straightforward too, sometimes to the point of bluntness, but never cruelty, especially not with him. Alicia “didn’t see the point in being passive-aggressive”, so they got along <em>very</em> nicely. Lastimosa gave clear instructions, which Cooper had always appreciated; same with Briggs. Barker was prone to sarcasm, but it was always clear sarcasm, and he was otherwise pretty straightforward. It was one of the reasons Cooper didn’t mind his bristly demeanor. At least it was genuine.</p>
<p>And then there was BT. BT was probably the most straightforward, literal-minded person Cooper had ever met, and it was a damn <em>relief. </em>Other people, especially neurotypical people, could be so…<em>exhausting</em> to keep up with. Even in the military, people couldn’t just say what they meant. Cooper had learned to keep up, most of the time, but it wore on him. It was nice to talk to someone who just…said what they were thinking. No frills, no double-meanings, no pussyfooting around it because they were afraid of hurting his feelings or breaking some social rule. On top of that, BT never once questioned what Cooper was doing. He’d watched Cooper spin in place with excitement without question, never made a rude comment about his stims, just let Cooper <em>be.</em> Just like his family had, more or less.</p>
<p>It was nice. More so because it meant that he didn’t have to mask so much.</p>
<p>He wasn’t sure if calling it masking was accurate. He wasn’t necessarily hiding that he was autistic; he’d never felt the need to do that. No one had told him he had to, and if he rarely brought it up, it was because most of the time it didn’t matter. But he <em>did</em> have to act like he was keeping it together, and that involved a lot of acting like he was more okay with things than he actually was.</p>
<p>It was war time. He knew that; he’d signed up for it. He couldn’t stick to his, couldn’t carefully curate his sensory input to make sure he wasn’t too overwhelmed, couldn’t avoid social interactions he wasn’t feeling up for. He had to do a lot of things he didn’t like, and he had to do them with as little complaint as possible.</p>
<p>(Arguably, there were a few times he could’ve complained—he was sure if Alicia were there all the time, she’d tell him that he was taking on too much, tolerating past the point that any reasonable person should tolerate.  But his tendency to overextend himself in the name of “the cause” was something he kept pushing off for Future Him to worry about.)</p>
<p>So if he was hiding any autistic traits, it was the ones that said he wasn’t doing so hot. It was little things, like gripping at the straps on his jump gear to make it look less like he was doing <em>that arm thing</em> (as his cousin Raleigh put it) or standing stock-still to avoid swaying. It was no different than swallowing past tears, saying <em>I’m okay</em> when you weren’t, pushing through pain or sleep deprivation or whatever was trying to hold you back.</p>
<p>He just had a lot more to push through.</p>
<p>Usually he’d keep it all bottled up until he couldn’t keep it together, then find a quiet place to stim it out or cry, sometimes both. He could probably do a guided tour of all the places on Harmony he’d gone to stress-stim. (<em>And to the left you’ll see me, chewing a hole in my glove because the light bulbs in the cafeteria finally broke me.</em>) But now, knowing that BT knew and didn’t care, and that BT was willing to give him a lot of privacy in the name of protocol three, Cooper figured he at least didn’t have to lock himself in a closet to de-stress. He could just do it in BT’s corner of the hanger. It was private over there; even better, it meant he’d have someone to talk it out with.</p>
<p>“One day, someone is going to ask me if I’m okay, and I’m going to open my mouth to reply and start screaming instead.”</p>
<p>BT’s one eye fixed on Cooper. “Is that a joke?”</p>
<p>“Don’t know.” Cooper kept pacing, hands tucked up against his chest, one occasionally shooting out to shake, as if trying to air-dry it faster. He wasn’t usually a pacer, except for when he was. Maybe it was because he’d spent most of the morning sitting down. Standing in place to sway wasn’t gonna cut it; he had to <em>move.</em> “I’ll let you know if I actually scream at someone.”</p>
<p>BT watched in silence. When he spoke, he seemed concerned in that uniquely BT way that was still hard for Cooper to pick up on sometimes. “Are you in distress?”</p>
<p>“Uh…define <em>distress?</em>” <em>Shake, shake, shake</em> went his left hand, as if it could banish the skin-crawling feeling of discomfort that ran through his whole body. “I’ll be okay. It’s just…”</p>
<p>
  <em>Shake, shake, shake.</em>
</p>
<p>“Been a long week. It’s a lot of little things that piled up. But specifically the sound system in the briefing room keeps making this…” He grimaced visibly, his teeth on edge just <em>thinking</em> about the sound. “Feedback noise, and no one tried to fix it. I’m damn lucky they give out written copies of the briefs, otherwise I would’ve missed everything.”</p>
<p>“You can put in a request for the speaker system to be repaired,” BT said. “Would you like me to remind you when you are no longer distressed?”</p>
<p>“Please? I’ll probably forget if you don’t.” Too much on his mind to remember something related to an incident he was actively trying to forget. “Thanks.”</p>
<p>“You’re welcome, pilot.”</p>
<p>BT kept watch. Eventually, Cooper felt calm enough that he was able to sit down near one of BT’s feet. He kept his arms close and his knees tucked up to his chest. Something about sitting on the floor always made him feel a bit better. “I fucking hate the IMC,” he muttered.</p>
<p>“I second that sentiment.” BT leaned over slightly. “Do you need to embark?”</p>
<p>“No, not now. But thanks.” He was kind of touched BT asked; hiding in small spaces also helped, sometimes, but today he was craving the floor. Cooper rubbed his eyes. “I’ll be okay, I just needed to shake it off.” He leaned against BT’s foot and sighed heavily. “Literally shake it off, I guess.”</p>
<p>BT made a humming noise. He hadn’t done that when Cooper right met him. Cooper sometimes wondered if the Titan had picked that up from him. “Are there any steps you can take to alleviate your discomfort?” he asked.</p>
<p>“End the war so I can get myself a nice isolated farm and pick my own lightbulbs.”</p>
<p>“Is this an attempt at humor?”</p>
<p>“Completely serious answer.”</p>
<p>“Understood, but are you sure that’s the only answer?”</p>
<p>Damn. BT really knew how to make Cooper second-guess his own resolve to push through things. Funny thing was, Cooper was pretty sure he didn’t even mean to do it. He was just asking, genuine and earnest as always. “…I can only take it so easy,” Cooper said weakly.</p>
<p>“Your wording implies that there are ways you could be ‘taking it easier’ that don’t impede your performance.”</p>
<p>“Damn, call me out, why don’t you?”</p>
<p>“Protocol three.”</p>
<p>“I know, I know.” Cooper very gently tapped his fist against BT’s foot in slight reprimand. “I’ll try to be better about taking care of myself.”</p>
<p>He wasn’t <em>entirely</em> saying that for BT’s benefit. (He could’ve, but he’d feel bad for lying to the Titan.) If Cooper was being honest with himself (and it was very hard to be anything but when BT had pulled back the metaphorical curtain), he felt like he was approaching the precipice of something worse than an agitated stim session in the Titan hanger. He was tired—tired enough that he could feel the full meltdown or burnout breathing down his neck. Tired enough that he was considering taking a nap here and there on the floor.</p>
<p>BT must have noticed, because he very gently poked Cooper with one massive metal finger. “If you’re going to sleep, you should at least sleep on the cot.”</p>
<p>“<em>Fine.</em>” Cooper used that finger as leverage to stand up. “Wake me in twenty? Or if the IMC is about to kill us, either one.”</p>
<p>“I will. And I will remind you to request the sound systems in the briefing room be repaired.” BT watched as Cooper dragged himself to the cot, set up in the corner for this exact purpose. “Rest well, pilot. Take whatever time you need.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, buddy.”</p>
<p>Cooper pulled out a set of earbuds and settled down on the cot. It was probably too early in the afternoon for a nap, but even if he just took twenty minutes to lie down, assess things…maybe the rest of the week wouldn’t seem so formidable.</p>
<p><em>Mindfulness,</em> his OT therapist had called him. Alicia had always called it <em>mental inventory</em>, which Cooper preferred. It summed up the mental process—going through all the nonsense piling up, making sense of it, sorting it carefully. Figuring out what he could and couldn’t handle—which was not always the same as what he <em>felt like</em> he could and couldn’t handle.</p>
<p>For example: right now, he <em>felt like</em> he couldn’t handle another five minutes of this—of briefings with glitchy sound systems, of not knowing when his routine be upended, of having to grit his teeth and push through even when he wanted to curl up in a corner and die.</p>
<p>But, as he lay there and breathed slowly, he was able to remind himself that he could, in fact, make it through. He’d made it so far, and he could continue making it. He just needed to take a few steps to survive…and maybe re-assess exactly how many of the <em>little things</em> he had to put up with. Figure out ways to make war time suck a little less.</p>
<p>Resting seemed like a good place to start.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tumblr is screechthemighty for general content and respawncinematicuniverse for my Apex content. Also, shout out to tumblr user parhelics for providing input on this fic!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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